Fucking Gringos

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‘Fucking gringos’ the old man thought to himself as he ignored them from behind his small hot kiosk on the coast.

I don’t even want their money, I just wish they would stop prancing about in their garish swim shorts, can’t they see the que? Its 11am on Monday morning and they’re already drunk.

How can they afford to come here at such a young age? I’m still paying off the mortgage to this sweat box, I’ve made so many pasties I see them in my sleep. I don’t know if my son will go to school, let alone leave the country.

He watched a pigeon cross over the road to the entrance of the military base which was hosting the international volleyball championships and saw the gringos being rushed out at rifle point.

Who the fuck do they think they are?!

bare gringos

So self-entitled, go to the favelas if you think you’re so tough. See how I lived as a child, literally on top of one another in dangerous streets with no sewers.

And this god damn government ‘pacifying’ favelas, giving us the most basic of amenities, who now have the audacity to charge council tax – for what? So their boys with guns can play with their balls on the beach?

My granddad and his brothers built our home from sheet metal and bricks over 100 years ago.

sugar loaf

I’ll never forget the day Michael Jackson came to dance in front of the cameras. My mother told me it was a good thing, the world will see how we live, see the poverty and come to help; my dad was right though.

And still they come through on their tours, pointing and gawping through their camera lens like it’s some sort of zoo.

So yes. Fuck gringos thought the old man as he turned back to the winding line of lizards.

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